Confessions
by minachandler
Summary: Set during 3x20. Felicity finally says those precious words to Oliver, and he is sure of one thing: that she comes first. Olicity smut, with major spoilers for 3x20.


Oliver has never been one to appreciate luxury.

He's grown up in a mansion, with maids and cooks and a king-sized bed. He has always been able to afford to be extravagant, but equally – at least after the island – he hasn't really ever needed it.

And now Ra's has housed him in a room that was the very epitome of extravagance, to the point of ostentatious. The deep red of the sheets, the myriad of candles that envelope the room in a low light, the balcony with the view of the night sky outside – it's all very regal, and yet despite his upbringing, he can't think of anywhere he wants to be less.

But then Felicity walks in, and once again, Oliver thanks whatever God is up there that he has allowed her to come with him. He can detect something different about her demeanour as she sits beside him, though, as she pulls his hands away from his lap and holds them in her own, but he doesn't want to question it – he tries instead to listen to her assurances and wishes that they alone could be enough.

"You have saved so many people's lives, and you have changed so many for the better," Felicity is saying, and her eyes are so soft and earnest. Her glasses glint in the candlelight, her hands warm in his. He can't stop himself from pressing his thumb on the inside of her wrist, finding her pulse. "Including mine," she continues. "Knowing you has changed my life. You've… opened up my heart in a way that I didn't even know was possible."

And all of a sudden, his heart starts racing and his eyes fix on hers. The candour that he can see is nothing new, but there's something else, in the quickening of the pulse beneath his fingers, in the way she is looking at him, and it's familiar for some reason.

Then she says it, as if it is the simplest thing in the world. "I love you," she says.

And he recognises, now, the clarity in her eyes – the same feeling of clarity he had felt before he had gone off to fight Ra's for the first time, before he had uttered those same words to her.

So many times he has imagined this moment – of them somehow miraculously finding a way to be together, of his beautiful Felicity saying those precious words back to him. And here she is, her eyes smiling, fingers twined with his.

He realises now that he is holding his breath, and he doesn't quite know why, but he reaches up and takes off her glasses, and he watches as her eyes dart ever so briefly to his lips. That's all he needs. Before he knows it, their lips meet. She is half on her feet, her small body pressing against his, and his hands are on her back, his mouth snatching at hers with such urgency and longing that when she pulls away, he feels – for the briefest of moments – disappointed. But any sign that she is having misgivings is obliterated when she starts taking off her jacket, and he follows suit, doing the same with his own.

For the life of him, he can't take his eyes off her. He feels like if he blinks, she will disappear, and in the split second when he takes off his shirt and his vision is obstructed, he wonders just that. But she is still there, standing, waiting for him, and he has never gotten to his feet so fast in his life. He looks askance at her, fingers slipping underneath her clothing, and she lifts her arms in response, allowing him to take off her top.

He immediately kisses her again, his lips are already feeling the absence of hers, and she lets out the tiniest pant as he lifts her off her feet. He revels in the feeling of his hand on her thigh, her arms around his neck, the silkiness of her hair brushing against his cheek.

When he reaches the bed, he finds himself beneath her, and for a moment, their eyes meet, while her hands rove over his chest. Her nails are painted red, and the breath catches in his throat when she caresses his scars, her eyes rich and so full of love that he can barely breathe. Felicity kisses him, still straddling his waist, and he becomes aware of his hard-on when he sits up, his hands on her back and colliding with her bra strap. She moans, and this only arouses Oliver more as he kisses her neck, groaning when she presses her hips more firmly against his.

She moves away again, this time reaching behind her to unstrap her bra, and he lies back, mesmerised by her breasts. He wants to speak; he needs to tell her, how beautiful she is, how much he loves her, but he couldn't say anything if he tried. He is grateful when their lips meet again, and he can taste the sweetness of hunger on her tongue and can feel the most wonderful sensation when her breasts push against his bare chest.

In one swift movement, Oliver manoeuvres them so she is underneath him, and he kisses her. She kisses back, harder, and in that moment any chasteness that was lingering between them goes completely. He kisses up the side of her face, teeth nipping at her ear, moving down to her neck, lips pressed on her collarbone and his tongue flicking against her throat, and once again, she rocks her hips against his in response, caressing his shoulders and his back.

His lips return to hers, his tongue teasing her lips apart, and it was after this lovely, messy, open-mouthed kiss that he whispers, "I love you."

"I know," she breathes back, and they both smile. He watches as a bead of sweat forms on her forehead; it travels past her cheek, down her neck and to her cleavage. She doesn't seem to notice, and she looks confused for a second because he is staring. But then Oliver reaches down to her breast, his thumb brushing against her nipple, and then he dips his head down and presses a kiss on the side of her breast. His tongue darts out to her nipple, erect with arousal, gratified at the hiss of pleasure he hears escaping her lips.

Oliver straightens, kissing her again, and once their faces are level, her fingers are in the loops of his jeans, and they do quick work with its buttons. Her hand lingers after she opens his zipper, pressing against his hardness through his boxers, and he closes his eyes.

"Is that all for me?" she asks teasingly.

"Felicity…" he says, and he takes his time saying her name because never has it tasted so sweet on his tongue.

But no way is this going to go any other way than her coming first.

Quickly, he gently removes her hand and moves off her, removes his shoes, then his jeans. In this time, she has kicked off her own shoes and is tugging down her pants. She pushes off her underwear, too, and Oliver tries not to make a sound as he helps her, disentangling her garments from her ankles.

Once they are tossed aside, he gently pushes her thighs apart and kneels between her legs. She watches him, her eyebrows raised just a little, and when he lowers his head to kiss the inside of her thigh, he can feel her skin there is wet, glistening in the candlelight.

He continues to press kisses, his mouth open, lingering on every inch of her that he can reach. He lifts Felicity's legs so they're over his shoulders, and he can feel them clench tighter when he parts the damp hair with his forefinger.

"Oliver…" he hears her say, and when his tongue is first inside her, he can feel the sheets beneath them move as if Felicity is tugging at them for support. And then he finds the spot he's looking for, still holding onto her thighs, attacking it relentlessly with his tongue. His lips upturn into a smile when he hears the glorious pant and moan of her orgasm, revelling in the taste of her mingled with her sweat, and he doesn't stop, not until the final cry of her climax leaves her and he can feel her body become steady again.

She moves her thighs from his shoulders, and he kisses his way up her abdomen, between her breasts, to her neck and then to her lips. Her breaths are short, but after several gentle kisses, with surprising strength, she pushes at his shoulders so she is once again on top of him, straddling his hips.

"Wait," he says, and he can't help but laugh at her huff of frustration. He can feel the heave of her chest with the movement.

"What?"

"You're… covered, right?" He prays for her to say yes, because he hasn't had to carry around condoms all year, and he definitely hasn't brought any to Nanda Parbat with him.

Thankfully, her expression changes, and after a moment, she covers his mouth with hers again. "Yeah, I'm on the pill. I'm good if you are."

When he nods, her hands slip into the waistband of his boxers, and with one tug, she frees his erection. Oliver gazes up at her, and when her thigh brushes against him while she removes his underwear from his legs, he's sure he might come right there. She runs her hand up and down his length, and he closes her eyes and allows her to kiss him at the same time. When their lips meet, he runs his tongue along her bottom lip, sucking down hard when her body covers his. He can feel her hands on his buttocks as she brings their hips closer together.

He finds himself at the mercy of her kisses, on his lips, one even landing inelegantly on his nose, and his hands move from where they are resting on her upper back to frame her beautiful face. Oliver looks up at the woman above him – her hair gleams with sweat, her lips swollen, a soft pink blush working its way down her cheeks and down her neck. He can't remember ever seeing her so undone, yet at the same time so in control, and another jolt of pleasure courses through him when she moves with him. And that is all it takes for him to climax, and after several moments, she moves off him, settling at his side.

"Sorry," he says, turning to his side and pushing a few stray strands of her hair behind her ear. "I'm a little… out of practice."

But she just laughs. "Oliver, you can't possibly call_ that_ out of practice." She places her hand on his chest. "And don't worry. Technically, we're even, and there's always next time."

Her eyes sparkle with promise as she reaches out for his hand and places a kiss on his palm. Then she goes quiet for a minute, and Oliver wonders if she's thinking about what she meant, and the impossibility of a next time.

He tries not to think about that. He edges a little closer to her on the bed, running his hand down her side, briefly cupping her breast and then lingering on the curve of her waist and the firmness of her hip.

Felicity just smiles, and after a moment, she says, "I have a confession to make."

"What?" he asks.

"Do you remember when we went to your mansion? Everyone was getting ready to fight, and you took me there on your Ducati. When you told me… for the first time…"

"I told you I loved you," he says.

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "When you did, I… I think I was more shocked than anything. It was only when you put that syringe in my hand that I understood what you meant, but in the seconds in between that, I – part of me wanted to say it back. Before I figured out it was a ruse for Slade, I mean."

"You never said."

"When we were on the island, I thought you were going to take it back. I even gave you the opportunity to do that, but you didn't, and… Oliver, I was glad, because the truth is… I didn't want you to take it back."

Oliver watches her, transfixed, but he doesn't say anything.

"The truth is, it was at that moment that I realised I loved you, too. I was just too afraid to say it."

"Say it again," he says, and it is not a command or even a request – it is a plea. She smiles, and part of him thinks she's laughing at him for saying such a cliché. She leans in, hoisting herself up by the elbow so she is level with him, and Oliver closes his eyes, heart humming with anticipation, but he is surprised when he feels the flutter of her lashes on his forehead and then a kiss on his lips that is exceedingly gentle. Her breath mingles with his and she murmurs, "I love you."

He smiles against her lips. "I love you too." Oliver feels her smile back. "And I also have a confession." She raises her eyebrows. "At Christmas, when I went to fight Ra's, it… didn't go very well."

"Understatement much?" she says, and he notices the crease in her forehead at the mention of Ra's.

"He stabbed me," Oliver says, "and… you know that saying, that when you're on the brink of death, life flashes before of your eyes?"

"Yeah." Felicity buries her face in his shoulder, and he revels in the feeling of her lips on his skin.

"Well, I've been close to death so many times, and that's never happened. Not really. But this time… it did. I saw my family – my mom, my dad, my sister, just… snapshots of memories with them. And then," he says, and she slowly raises her head to look him in the eyes, "I saw you."

She opens and closes her mouth, but nothing really comes out. "The last thing I remember before Ra's kicked me down that mountaintop was… us. It was just after Lyla had Sara, and we had gone to see them in the hospital."

Felicity seems to have found her voice again. "You mean the first time you kissed me." He smiles and nods. "Was that really your last thought before you didn't die?"

He murmurs in assent and then continues, "When I came to, I was in a cabin wrapped in bandages, but right before that, I can remember dreaming of being in the foundry. You were telling me I had to kill Ra's, and how you were afraid he was going to use your humanity against me."

She closes her eyes. "I remember that conversation. I was right."

Oliver shakes his head. "In the dream, when you said that, I… I said I would stay. That I was sure of one thing – that I loved you, and that nothing else mattered."

"Is that still true?" she asks, and when she opens her eyes, they are shimmering with fear and worry.

Sighing, he leans forward, lifting her chin and kissing her lips. "I love you," he says quietly, "and for right now, nothing else matters."

To his relief, she doesn't push him, instead resting her cheek on his bare shoulder, one arm stretched over his chest. She traces each of his scars with one finger, and they lie on the wine-coloured covers, feeling the heat of the candlelight and watching the moon in the dark blue sky. Neither of them says another word, and as Felicity's hand begins to slow and her breathing becomes deeper, Oliver tries not to think about the lonely path that is to come.

No. He only thanks the heavens that he could spend one beautiful night with the woman he loved. In truth, that is the only real luxury he feels he cannot live without


End file.
